Shake, Rattle, Rumble, Roar
by bubblesodatea
Summary: It's 1961, and the Braginsky Ring is growing dangerously powerful in Eastern Europe. The CIA must send their most eager agents to rescue their whistleblower before the Berlin Wall goes up and their informant is trapped in Eastern Europe forever. Alfred F. Jones is sure that he will become the best agent in the country. Matthew Williams is sure that something will go terribly wrong.
1. SHAKE

Here's what they tell you about being a spy in the newspaper: they're American heroes, risking their lives to defeat the Communist regime or other baddies.

Here's what they tell you about being a spy in Hollywood: they're sexy, they're prefer their martinis shaken and not stirred, and they get Pussy Galore.

Here's what they tell you about being a spy in the streets: they're mysterious, clever, sneaky, and they have nothing to lose.

Here's what they don't tell you about being a spy: it can be boring as hell, if they never give you a case to work on.

…

Washington D.C., September 1961

"Ughhhh."

Matthew Jones-Williams, aged twenty-four, was a pale man of above-average height with violet eyes and a curly mop of blond hair. He was a rather clean-cut young man; he had the kind of look that might suit a student of physics more than a secret agent working for the United States. He didn't bother to look up from his paper work as his deskmate continued groaning, and instead kept his attention on the case files in front of him and responded with his characteristic calm.

"Really, Alfred, it's not that bad."

Alfred F. Williams-Jones, aged twenty-four (and fifteen minutes older than Matthew!), lifted his head an inch off the table, and then slammed it back down. Whereas Matthew looked slightly out-of-place amidst the nation's capital, Alfred was the posterboy for everything "All-American." He was tall and strapping, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a slight tan. His chiseled face, however, did not bear his usual wide grin. Instead, it was buried amongst piles of papers on his desk.

"No, Matt, it's even more terrible than bad. I'm dying of boredom and Kirkland won't even give us an interesting case file to organize. I mean, really," Alfred said, sitting up in his chair and waving his case file for Matthew to see. "Who cares about the Salad Slayer? He had barely anything to do with espionage! It's the only time the word 'slayer' has managed to make someone sound less cool."

Matthew couldn't help but secretly agree that the case was more or less busywork, but he shrugged. "He was from the Soviet Union, and Kirkland did say that they found smuggled goods in his coats."

"Smuggled beets, Matthew! Smuggled beets."

Matthew blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, glumly looking at the paper. "Stupid dude was trying to get past the FDA so he could sell his black-market rutabaga."

"Alfred, a rutabaga isn't a beet. It's actually—"

"Please, Matthew. Don't make this pain worse than it already is."

The two brothers sat in silence as they stared at their identical case files. In their cramped office, the only sound that could be heard were the occasional footsteps of some higher-ranking individual outside and the bz-ing of the electrical lights. The grey stone wall could barely be seen; Alfred's side of the wall was covered in rock'n'roll posters and his certificates, and Matthew's had a few postcards and photos. Their workspace was made up of two metal chairs and two desks pushed together to form a table.

The office was always cold (even moreso now that it was autumn), and so Alfred and Matthew had gotten into the habit of keeping their coats on at all hours. Alfred rolled up the sleeves of his bomber jacket.

"Mattie, I know that you like doing paperwork or whatever, but I know that we can do more than this. We didn't study for an eternity so that we could lurk in the Archives until we die of old age. I mean—look at us!"

Matthew looked from Alfred to himself, and drew his brows together. "What about us?"

"We're two outstanding detectives-slash-spies, and they quarantined us downstairs with boxes and boxes of paperwork, while forty-year old grandpas get to go on missions and order us around? I mean, look at me! I'm young, I'm dashing. But instead, Ye King Kirkland gets to prance around on his noble English feet and—"

The door opened.

On the other side stood a rather unimpressed Arthur Kirkland, his green eyes narrowed. His sandy blond hair was stiffly gelled back as always, and his frown deepened as his disapproving gaze landed on Alfred.

"I'm not going to dignify whatever you were jabbering on about," Kirkland said flatly. "Jones, your uniform isn't to code."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Ugh, because of my jacket? I've told you like a thousand times that it's freezing down here because you won't fix the heater. What, do you want me to dress like you, O tweedful one?"

The taller man gestured at the acrylic mustard-brown suit that Kirkland was wearing. Even Matthew had to admit that the suit was terrible, and it looked several sizes too big for the Englishman, who wasn't as tall as Matthew or as broad-shouldered as Alfred.

Kirkland scowled. "Alfred, my suit is up to code and perfectly pragmatic."

"How? No joke, I bet if I lit a match in here your suit would melt in seconds," Alfred mused, leaning onto a cabinet file and propping his chin on his hand. He raised his eyebrows in an almost cocky sort of manner, as if he was daring Kirkland to defend himself.

"First of all—you know what, no. I'm not getting into this argument with you again today," Kirkland grumbled. The older man stepped over a discarded bag on the floor and navigated his way through the cluttered room towards the twin desks. Matthew turned to Alfred and mouthed "again?"

Alfred grinned.

Before Matthew could question his brother further, Kirkland was standing in front of them; Matthew, sitting at his desk, and Alfred, still leaning on the file cabinet. Kirkland rarely came down to their office, and the grim look on his pale face made Matthew feel as if something major was about to happen. Kirkland cleared his throat.

"Jones, Williams, I'm here because we've recieved an important case from INTERPOL regarding a Soviet smuggling ring."

Matthew sat up, his violet eyes wide. Were they finally being given a chance to go out into the field? He swore he felt like a balloon was rising from his stomach and into his head.

"I'm sure you're both well aware of the wall that's currently being constructed in Berlin. Well, we have an informant on the mafia who was securely delivered to Berlin from Moscow, but now we're afraid that they may be trapped in Berlin once construction is completed. Thus, it is necessary that we send a pair of capable agents to retrieve them and bring them to safety in the States. And that is why I've come here today to ask you both—"

Matthew let in a sharp intake of breath.

"—to fill out the necessary international and monetary paperwork granting whichever agents we choose access to pass the border into East Germany through Checkpoint Charlie."

The figurative balloon in Matthew's head didn't just pop. It somehow (defying all balloon-related logic) shattered, leaving nothing but hollow disappointment in his chest. His eyes locked with Alfred's, and his brother shrugged and mouthed "told you so."

Kirkland held out a thick manila folder expectantly. After a beat, Matthew moved his chair and took the packet from the Director. Kirkland continued his lecture.

"Right, so that that's done with. I've got to go meet up with the INTERPOL officer and find the necessary agents for the job. Jones, you and Williams have done background information on almost every agent in Washington. Do any particular people come to mind?"

"Yes," Alfred said, uncharacteristically serious. "Kirkland, I really think that you should consider Matthew and me for this mission."

Kirkland's already unhealthy pallor turned into an even whiter color, and he clenched his jaw. "Jones, don't be ridiculous. You're both capable agents, but neither of you have experience in the field."

"Only because you never gave us any cases! You know that we're good enough for this mission. Matt and I both have top marks, and all of our licenses and certificates are still up to date, even after two years. We've studied everything from guns to codebreaking and we both know languages that would help us if you gave us this case."

Kirkland glared at Alfred. "This is a ridiculously high-risk case to give to an amateur. I'll admit that you and your brother have had exceptional exam results and that your skills in language would be helpful, but the fact remains that it would be out of the question to assign either of you to this case."

Alfred looked as if he would like nothing more than to continue arguing, but there was a loud rapping at the office door. Matthew stood up quickly.

"I'll get it," he said, anxious to defuse the situation. He didn't mind the paperwork as much as Alfred did, but even he had to admit that the work was becoming grating and dull. Younger agents with less talent had been assigned cases far before them; what was it about him and his brother that made Director Kirkland wary?

The door opened before Matthew could reach it. The person who had knocked was a man that Matthew didn't recognize, wearing a crisp, expensive-looking suit.

"Hello," the man said amiably, with a distinct French accent. "Ah, there you are, Director. I was wondering where you had run off to."

Kirkland flushed slightly, but turned his hostile gaze away from Alfred and stalked over to the Frenchman's side.

"Jones, Williams, I want you to meet Francis Bonnefoy, the delegate sent from INTERPOL. He's had a long flight from Lyon, so it's best that I get him back on track with our mafia informant case."

The Director gestured for Francis to follow him out the door, but Francis ignored him.

"Ah, yes, our little mafia problem...You know, usually INTERPOL does not get involved in the squabble between America and the Soviets, but we believe that this is beyond that. The Braginsky Ring has become rather infamous in Eastern Europe, and the informant currently living in East Berlin is our only lead on taking down the mafia. Getting them out of Europe is a top priority."

Behind him, Kirkland nodded vigorously. "Exactly, Francis. So I think it best to leave the lads to their papers, and we can get on our way to finding our agents."

Francis waved Kirkland off. "You misunderstand me, Kirkland. I've spent the last few hours looking at some profiles and making some phone calls, and I believe that Monsieurs Alfred and Matthew will suit the case very well."

"What?" Arthur yelped. "What do you mean by will? Bonnefoy, these two are well trained agents, but that's all these two are—trained. You really can't think it's wise to throw these two out into the field with one of our largest cases."

"I can, and I do, Arthur. If the folders were correct, then they have some of the best multilingual skills I've ever seen, and that will be very important on this mission."

Alfred practically skipped forward, beaming. "Yessir, Matthew and I were both taught languages. Our mom was French-Canadian, so she taught us French, and obviously we know English. I mean, language is more my thing than Matthew's, but he knows French much better than I do. I'm fluent in German and Spanish, and I know basic Russian."

Francis nodded. "French, Russian, German. Arthur, they won't even need translators. Surely you must also recognize the importance of polyglots in espionage?"

Kirkland, who was turning a rather impressive shade of purple, nodded stiffly. "Yes, of course that's important, but—"

"But they also have some impressive exam results to consider, yes. Alfred, I was impressed by your scores for sharpshooting and athletics."

"Thank you sir, I play some football and I'm careful to keep in shape outside of work too. I'm glad it shows," Alfred prattled, clearly enjoying the attention. Francis looked him up and down appraisingly.

"Yes, it most certainly does."

"But—oh, you can't forget about Matthew," Alfred said, pulling Matthew next to him. "Matt's got the jets. He passed all of the mock scenarios with flying colors, and Kirkland even said so himself that Matthew has a 'remarkable talent for codebreaking and other cleverness,' didn't you, Kirk?"

Kirkland said nothing, looking sick.

"Well, Alfred's exaggerating my skills, but I'll admit that I have a remarkable talent of going about unnoticed," Matthew said dryly. "Also, for being forgotten. I'm very experienced in that field."

Alfred laughed. "Don't sell yourself short, bro. Mr. Bonnefoy, Matthew's also pretty good at runaways and cars and stuff like that. You wouldn't believe it by looking at us, but Matt's actually the one with the crazy driving."

He slapped Matthew's back, and Matthew nearly keeled over from the force of the hit. Kirkland cleared his throat and stepped back into the room.

"Bonnefoy, these are two young, perhaps over-eager, men. I'd like you to consider the possibility that they might be exaggerating the extent of their skill. Once, again I say that there are agents who are better fitted for the job."

Francis folded his arms behind his back and raised an eyebrow. "And once again, Arthur, I disagree. All of the other members of your Agency commended these two most thoroughly, and everything I've read about them seems to be consistent with what they are saying."

Matthew stood up straighter, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Mr. Bonnefoy, are you saying that you're giving the case to Alfred and me?"

"Monsieur Matthew, that is exactly what I am saying. I hope you are ready for your first assignment, because you two are officially heading to East Germany."

* * *

 **This was a belated Secret Santa gift to Titantea. I'm so sorry I was so late! This ended up being waaaay longer than I anticipated, and so I've split it up into four chapters. All chapters are complete, and will be uploaded once they're beta'd.**

 **I just wanted to say: thank you so much, dear Titantea, for being a great friend and inspiring artist. I realize that my work and my life would be a hundred times shittier if you weren't there helping me and guiding me. I hope you have a great 2017, and that you enjoy this fic for you! I went through your tumblr and tried to mesh together everything you liked.**

 **And if you aren't Titantea, you're appreciated as well! Thank you for reading this chapter.**


	2. RATTLE

**Checkpoint Charlie,Two Weeks Later.**

"Y'know, I always wanted to visit Europe—I mean in the movies, there's always glitz and glamour and casinos. Hell, those Bond novels are why I wanted to be a spy in the first place. But really, Mattie, I think we got the short end of the stick here."

As Alfred spoke, small clouds of condensation appeared. The sight of grey buildings against an even greyer sky was depressing, and the cold only added to the dreary atmosphere. They were walking towards a small white building in the center of the road where they would enter into East Berlin, and Matthew could see clearly the barbed-wire fences. There were a few civilians walking up and down the avenue, but they kept their distance from the checkpoint.

The brothers reached the window of the checkpoint quickly. Alfred smiled at the officer, who was dressed in the olive drab of East Germany. Alfred spoke to him in English, with a slight Southern accent.

"Hello," Alfred said cheerfully, adjusting his paperboy cap. "My name's Lewis Beauregard, and this is my associate Timothy Rent. We've been sent by the United States Department of State to check that your wall will stay on the border between East and West Germany, and that it abides to the agreements previously made between East Germany and the United States. If you'll take a look at this document, you'll see that we have arranged meetings with some architects that are working on this wall as well. Oh, and here're our passports, visas, and documents."

Alfred reached into his cloth bag and pulled out a thick wad of papers. The German officer analyzed them and Matthew was more or less confident that their fake documents were believable. They included documents from the State Department, as well as slightly altered photos of him and Alfred.

Matthew shivered as they waited. He knew that it was a part of their persona, but the professional-looking suits that they had been given were useless against the cold. Later, once they were past the checkpoint, they would change into more practical weatherwear.

The officer held the passports up to the light and compared the two men to their photos. After a few seconds of scrutinizing, the man decided to let them pass and stamped their papers before wordlessly waving them away from the window.

Matthew sighed in relief when he saw the circular stamp that cleared them for entry. He handed the passport back to Alfred and raised his hand in thanks at the officer, who had already focused his attention onto the next group of foreigners.

They walked through the gate. Somehow it seemed that the chilly air grew even colder once they crossed into East Berlin. The first few buildings that Matthew walked past looked similar to their Western counterparts, but Matthew couldn't help but suspect that the difference between the two sections would become more evident the further they got from the border.

Once they were a decent number of steps away from the checkpoint, Matthew pulled out a map and stopped.

"Alfred, I think we should make a left here," he said, pointing down the street towards what looked like a small office building. Alfred opened his mouth to question him, but shrugged and followed Matthew into the building's carpark. The office building was around three stories tall, and the two windows that looked into the carpark had closed blinds. The lot was almost entirely full and Matthew suspected that for the workers inside the building, it was just a normal weekday.

He nudged Alfred. "Look for the license place D-AE816." Before they had left, Francis had promised them that a car would be available for their use while abroad, and Matthew had relied on having a vehicle for the majority of their plans. After a minute or two of looking around and doing his best to remain subtle, Matthew found the car. It was boxy, with grey paint and an overall industrial feel. Matthew pulled the car key out of his pocket.

After unlocking the door, Matthew took his place at the driver's seat. Alfred refused the seat next to him. Instead, he stayed outside, leaning against the driver's car door.

Matthew rolled down the window. "What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated.

"If I get into the car with you, then it'll look weird. If I stand outside like this, I can cover you and look like some worker playing hooky in the parking lot," Alfred explained as he dug into his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Where'd you get the cigs?"

Alfred shrugged. "There was a stand at the airport. I can't reach my matchbox right now anyways, so it's just for show. I mean, lollygagging office workers smoke, right?"

Matthew was tempted to roll his eyes at his brother's overcommitment to his role, but brushed it aside. "You should probably start changing soon."

Alfred held his cigarette in his mouth and pulled a pair of leather gloves and a jacket out of his bag. "So, did you want to go over our plan again?"

"Yeah. So, Kirkland said that they sent the informant some kind of signal that we were going to get them around a week ago. I don't know what the code is, but he told me that they know we're coming and that they have info on us," Matthew said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "We haven't been given their name or any pictures because Kirkland's afraid that we might be intercepted and that someone else will get the intel."

"He really needs to have more faith in us," Alfred grumbled.

"You have the address of their safehouse. They're located in an uninhabited apartment block around a mile or two from the wall, and they're located deep into the area around their safe house doesn't have a lot of solicitors."

"That could be a good thing," Alfred said. Matthew shook his head.

"Or it could mean that anyone looking out for us would know that something's out of place. Don't forget that our informant's also being hunted down by the Braginsky Ring, so it's probable that they've already sent someone to follow us. That's why I suggested we split up in the first place."

"Right. So I'll find the informant's house, and we'll get ready. You'll be driving around or something, right?"

"I'll be scoping out the area, and I'll also alert you on the radio if I notice anything strange. Remember to keep your radio on, Alfred. Don't turn it off, or—I don't know, throw it at someone."

Alfred laughed. "Oh Mattie, that's a panic and a half. Does that sound like something I would do?"

"Yes," Matthew said seriously. "Anyways, the pair of you will radio me when it's time to go, and I'll pick you up. This is the best-case scenario: nothing happens, no one follows us, and the plan goes off without a hitch."

"But, y'know, we should expect everything to go terribly wrong. You should check the car for bugs just in case. I always check everything," Alfred said. "Okay, I think I'm ready. How do I look?" He stepped back from the car door and spread his arms out.

Alfred had removed his suit jacket and was now wearing a leather racer jacket over his button-up shirt. He had taken off his glasses and hat and stashed them into his bag.

"Nice gloves," Matthew said enviously eyeing the smooth brown leather, his own fingers chilled to the bone. "You got a weapon?"

His brother nodded and opened one side of his jacket to reveal a holster, securing a decent sized handgun. "My radio's in my pocket, I dug my matches out of my bag, and my boots are double-knotted, so don't worry, _mom_."

Matthew sighed. "I'm not _worried_. I mean, I hope that we can finish this mission fast and without any problems, and I believe that we have the skill set to accomplish that. However, rationally, it's very likely that something will go wrong. I'm just being realistic."

"But that's what we've been training for, right? We didn't spend all that time planning and preparing for nothing," Alfred reasoned. "No matter what happens, we have to be on the move soon. What time is it?"

"Quarter to five," Matthew said. His brother nodded and slung his bag over his shoulders.

It was odd, Matthew thought as he rolled the car's window up and inserted the key into ignition. He had spent so many sleepless nights and dusky mornings analyzing every part of what they would do once they arrived in East Berlin. He had created hypothetical solutions to hundreds of hypothetical problems; what to do in case of snow, what to do in case the car didn't start, but even after days of brainstorming, he still had set plans for what to do under the highly likely event that someone was following them. With all the variables that came with the problem, Alfred had suggested that they just "wing it."

Matthew watched as Alfred turned around, his retreating figure headed back up the street they had come from. It wasn't until Alfred was out of sight that Matthew sighed and started the car, with the feeling that he had forgotten something in the back of his mind.

It was going to be a long night.

…

 **Somewhere Else in East Berlin.**

As Alfred walked, the concrete underneath his feet slowly changed from neatly pressed and clean to crumbling asphalt. Their informant lived in an abandoned apartment in the bad part of town, and it was quickly becoming obvious that Kirkland hadn't been exaggerating when he had described the informant's living condition as "decrepit." With every turn he took, the buildings began showing more wear and became more miserable. Alfred didn't see many other people, and the ones he did encounter kept to themselves. This was far from a relief for Alfred, though; if it wasn't normal for people to wander around this neighborhood, then he would stick out like a sore thumb to anyone who might be looking for him.

After leaving Matthew in the car park, he had retraced his steps to a street near the border, and then went north, making several dizzying turns in order to shake off anyone who might be following him. Alfred had memorized the location of the safe house weeks ago, and the map that he had brought was a flimsy, tourist-y paper copy with no marked locations or writings in case it ever fell into the wrong hands.

Contrary to what Mattie believed, Alfred _did_ plan ahead. It just so happened that Alfred's plans mostly involved kicking down doors, and maybe one too many catchphrases.

He took a left turn at a small library into an alleyway, doing his best not to trip on the rubbish that littered the ground. The pathway became narrower and narrower; the space so cramped that Alfred, with his broad shoulders, was only barely able to pass through. He blinked the darkness out of his eyes.

In front of him stood a miserable apartment complex. The brownstone buildings looked neglected, as if all of the occupants had decided to move at once without taking time to pack or clean out the house. Alfred speculated that it had been abandoned when the war ended years ago, and had simply never been reconstructed afterwards. There were no fences or gates protecting the tenement. Instead, the entire area was hidden by the surrounding buildings, all of which were taller and more modern.

The apartments themselves were low-rise structures of only two stories, and there were around two dozen different flats. Alfred scoped the entire area out before slowly making his way towards the safe house.

It was one of the smaller upstairs flats, located near the end of the block; it looked just as uninhabited as the rest of the homes, with old curtains pulled tightly over dusty windows. Alfred ascended the stairs and knocked, the sound similar to cannon fire as it shattered the quietness of the complex.

It was silent for a painfully long time, and Alfred saw the curtain flutter in the corner of his eye. Then, minutes (or perhaps just seconds) later, there was a voice on the other side.

"What is your name?"

The person on the other side spoke in heavily accented English, their voice cold and muffled. Alfred cleared his throat.

"Alfred Jones," he said. There was another pause.

" _Full_ name."

"Er—Alfred Fitzgerald Williams-Jones," Alfred said, cringing slightly at his own middle name. Kirkland had probably chosen that as his security question because Alfred had had it redacted from all official forms and documents. The only way that anyone would have known would be if they had heard it from Alfred himself. Or, apparently, from Kirkland blabbing it out to random informants.

He heard the door lock click, then the jangling of a chain, and then the sound of something thin and metallic snapping before the door slowly opened to reveal the informant.

She was an incredibly pale young woman with a thin, striking face, a kitchen knife clutched tightly in her left hand. The woman wore a dark blue dress that hung off of her waifish form, unbothered by the cold that Alfred figured must go hand-in-hand with wearing a sundress in September. She adjudged Alfred before relaxing slightly.

"I suppose I _have_ to believe you," she said sourly, opening the door all the way so that Alfred could enter and quickly closing the door again once he did. Her voice was deep and somewhat hoarse, like she hadn't spoken to another living human in weeks.

"Well, this is all nice and cozy," Alfred quipped as he looked over the small living room. It was just as old-looking as the exterior, but it was slightly less dusty. The only furniture in the room was a chair and a small wooden table, and there was a small area of the room sectioned off for a kitchen. "I have to say though, you're being a little unfair to me. You know that you can trust me, but how do I know I can trust you?"

The woman's lip curled and she left the room, only to return seconds later with a piece of paper which she stuffed into Alfred's hands.

It was a photograph of a girl, unmistakably the woman in front of him. She looked considerably healthier and—well, not quite _happier_ , as she still wasn't smiling, but more at ease. On the other side of the paper was handwritten note.

 _This is an official photograph of Source #0825, signed for and identified by A. Kirkland._

Underneath the brusque memo was Kirkland's familiar signature, written in green ink.

Alfred handed the photo back to the woman, who took it and began ripping it to shreds. He chose to ignore this. "Well then, I guess we can go on and befriend each other without any more suspicious glaring. Let me introduce myself. As you know, my name is Alfred F. Jones, and I was sent by the CIA to break you out of Eastern Europe and away from your murder-y mafia friends. Whadda 'bout you?"

The woman glowered. "My name is Natalia. Natalia Arlovskaya."

Even as she spoke to him, the grip on her knife didn't relax.

Alfred tilted his head. "Y'know, a knife won't do much in a gunfight. I have another weapon in my bag, so if you knew how to handle a gun—"

"I do," Natalia said hurriedly with the slightest trace of excitement before her face became sour again. "I was raised in the mafia. Naturally, I would know how to use a gun."

"Ah, well, I figured with the lacy dress and the barefeet…," Alfred shrugged. "All I'm saying is that we _do_ have to leave soon and dresses aren't the best thing to run in."

The woman glared at him, but she set the knife down on the table. "Fine. I will change. Don't touch anything."

Alfred held up his bag. "I was actually wondering if you had a fireplace I could burn this in? It has a _lot_ of classified shit that will probably get me in trouble."

"In the kitchen there is a gas oven, but there will be smoke from the chimney if you burn anything."

"Well, it's just paper and cloth, so it'll be light smoke. Yeah, it'll be okay if we're fast. Go change!" Alfred said cheerfully, waving Natalia away. Natalia sent him a doubting look but retreated down the hallway to her bedroom.

Alfred sprinted to the kitchen area as soon as she was out of sight. He might have acted casual with Natalia, but the overwhelming time pressure of the situation had not been forgotten. The kitchen was small and cramped, the countertop covered in a thin layer of dust. He set his bag on the wooden ledge and took his radio out of his pocket.

"Hey, Bear Claw, you hear me?" he said as he set the radio down and started undoing the knot on his bag. There was crackling on the other end, and then Alfred heard Matthew's voice speak, garbled but still recognizable.

"Yeah, I hear you, Alfred—"

" _Codename_!" Alfred hissed. He hadn't spent all those hours brainstorming cool nicknames for Matthew to forget about them. Also, there was the whole "secrecy" thing. Or whatever.

Silence, and then a sigh. "I hear you loud and clear, Golden Eagle."

"Swell. I found our informant, by the way. Real peppy chick. You'll dig her," Alfred said. "How's the car?"

"Fine. I think I'm around a mile away from the apartment, and I don't think I can drive any closer. I'm a few feet away from a library," As Matthew spoke, the ear-piercing sound of feedback warped his voice and made Alfred wince.

"Dude, there's some terrible feedback coming from your end."

"Really? I don't hear anything. Maybe this thing needs new batteries. I should tune out then," Matthew said, and then his end of the line went silent. Alfred tucked the radio back into his pocket and stared at the contents of his now-open bag. Most of the space was filled with the papers that he and Matthew had used to get past the border, and Alfred knew that they were too risky to not be burnt. After a quick analysis, Alfred pulled out the small handgun he had promised Natalia and his glasses. Everything else would have to burn (or at least, safely melt).

The oven was the only thing in the flat that was reasonably modern, but even it was still dusty and melancholy-looking. Natalia didn't seem to cook with it much, probably because it still connected to the chimney. Without a second thought, Alfred yanked the door of the oven down and threw his bag into the hearth and slammed the door shut again. Surprisingly, it closed quietly, rather than with the large bang that he had been expecting. Alfred stood back up and squinted at the confusing array of labeless knobs on the counter and decided on turning the biggest. Luckily, he appeared to have guessed correctly; a cold blue fire ignited in the oven and it started slowly eating away at the thin cloth of his bag.

Natalia emerged from the hallway just as Alfred left the kitchen, and they stood in the dismal living room, once again facing each other in the same awkwardness that they had shared earlier.

"Well then," Alfred said chipperly, pretending like the the long silence hadn't happened. "You sure look ready for adventure now!"

The woman made a noncommittal noise. She had changed out of her flimsy dress and into a pair of corduroy pants that were ill-fitting, but sturdy. Her jacket had the same durable look to it, with deep pockets and a tightly tied belt. Natalia had also tied her hair out of her face with a blue ribbon so that her stringy platinum hair wouldn't obstruct her sight. Alfred couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy when he saw the ribbon. It was the only thing in the house that didn't look worn down and tired.

Natalia noticed his change of expression and frowned. "Don't even think about pitying me," she snapped. "I made the choices that got me here. If you really want to play a damn hero, give me the gun."

Alfred cocked his head slightly but said nothing in return, the expression in his steady blue gaze unreadable. Natalia shifted uneasily.

"Jones, I—" she started, but she was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the front door.

The rapping was soft, almost gentle, but not nearly muffled enough to be mistaken for something as commonplace as the wind or a stray bird. Natalia's already pale face was as white as a sheet, and Alfred's grip on his gun had tightened, the metal ridges digging into his skin.

She sent him a questioning look, silently asking if he knew what was going on. Alfred shook his head. Matthew loved plans too much to leave the car without telling Alfred first, and no one else in the country was supposed to know anyone was living here. He took a soundless step towards Natalia.

"Are there any other exits in this apartment?" Alfred whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible. Nothing indicated that the stranger outside had heard him speak, and so Natalia replied.

"Not here. The curtains on that window are made of metal and can only be opened a little," she whispered back, gesturing with her chin to the curtains that looked uncannily like cloth. "The only other window is in the bedroom."

There was another knocking on the door; louder and less subtle. Natalia flinched, but gritted her teeth and took the few steps towards the only lamp and unplugged it. The entire room plunged into darkness. Alfred cursed himself under his breath for losing track of time and underestimating how quickly the sun would set. If he squinted, he could see the faint outline of Natalia (mostly due to how pale she was), but not much else. They both stood there, still as statues in the cold darkness of the flat, unsure what to do next.

The knocking was no longer patient. Whoever stood on the other side was pounding on the door furiously. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the cacophony stopped. The words that followed, however, sent shivers up Alfred's spine.

"Miss Braginskaya, I know you're there," spoke a man, his voice hypnotizing and beautiful. "My name is Alfred Jones. I've come to save you."

Then the pounding started again, but it was different. Slower. Harsher. Metal against metal.

It was chilling to hear someone else introduce themselves with his other speaker had an accent that was vaguely German, and he spoke with dulcet tones. Rather than calming Alfred down, it set something off inside him that forced him to remember that it was his mission to _do something, god dammit_.

He could feel the adrenaline rush into his blood, clearing his head and giving him determination. The only goal was to get Natalia out of East Berlin alive, no matter what he had to do to. Even if it meant destroying private property.

Alfred shoved the gun he had be holding into Natalia's hands and pushed her towards the hallway. She stayed silent, neither wide-eyed nor frightened. Her face hardened into something grim and purposeful as she took a deep breath and started down the hallway, her steps impossibly quiet despite her heavy boots.

"I know that voice," she hissed darkly. "I just can't match a face to it."

She gripped the gun in her left hand as she opened the door to the bedroom. The room was only slightly brighter than the one they were in before, whether it was from Alfred's eyes adjusting or the cloth curtains he wasn't sure. Natalia locked the door behind them as he examined the room.

It looked slightly more lived in than the other rooms of the house, with a small bed in one corner and a squat cabinet in another. There was a desk and chair set against the wall, a curious pile of what looked like shredded paper on the surface. Natalia caught Alfred eyeing it.

"Those are the documents that your director gave me. I read them and destroyed them."

Alfred nodded his approval and turned away. He needed to fully form his plan so that he could get Natalia out before the man broke in; even now, the pair could hear the pounding on the door. Alfred was supposed to be the creative, wild one, practically born and raised to be an action star. He knew he had the skills that he had bragged to Arthur about. Now it was time to prove that he could actually use them.

Alfred strode over to the curtains and yanked them open.

"Natalia, what's on the other side?"

"The bedroom window of the other apartment. There's a small gap between the buildings, less than a meter," Natalia replied. She was clever, and she realized the basis of Alfred's plans quickly. "Are you going to break the window and jump?"

The agent shook his head. "No, the apartments are too close together. I'm going to break _both_ windows so that we can go into the other building and exit the complex from there. Mind if I borrow this?" he asked lifting the metal stool up by one of its legs. It was sturdy and impressively weighted for something so small. It was lucky that Alfred had worn gloves today.

As Alfred made a few practice swings (clearly enjoying the power of his weapon a little too much), Natalia pressed her weight against the cabinet and pushed it towards the door to block his entryway. Even if it couldn't keep the person out, it would buy them some time as the stranger hacked at the door.

"Alright, you might want to take a step back," Alfred said over his shoulder before raising the stool and swinging it like a baseball bat.

The window, old and brittle, didn't stand a chance against Alfred's stellar batting skills. Cracks spread along the glass like spider webs, and another hit sent the shards flying down from the second story to the ground below. He continued to strike at the glass until the entire window frame was bare. Behind him, he heard Natalia curse.

"He's almost in," she said bluntly, no longer trying to keep her voice quiet. Alfred turned around for a quick second and saw Natalia facing away from the window, the pistol cocked and ready.

With one hand on the frame, Alfred climbed up onto the ledge and braced himself, the cold night wind stinging his face. The other bedroom window looked identical to the one that he had just destroyed, around three feet tall and five feet wide. The distance between the two buildings was tiny.

Gritting his teeth, Alfred swung the stool at the other window, reaching his arm out as far as he could to make contact. After a few more hits, it too was broken. It hadn't shattered as neatly as the other one had, but there was enough space to crawl through.

As he set the stool down, a loud crash reverberated through the house. Natalia grabbed his arm, her nails digging deep despite the leather jacket.

"He broke the front door—god, you're bleeding!" Natalia said, something similar to panic fluttering across her face for the first time. "What do we do?"

Alfred reached up and gingerly felt his face, his gloved fingers brushing against a long, deep cut. The adrenaline had numbed him to the pain. He sighed, unzipped his jacket and pulled his gun out of its holster. "It's not that bad. You have to cross first. I'll cover you."

Natalia turned and ran to the window without a second thought. Cold wind was blowing into the room, and Alfred had to watch his step carefully to avoid stepping on the broken glass. As he took position and raised his gun, he could hear the stranger in the house; it seemed like the other man had heard the glass shatter and was now approaching the bedroom.

"Miss Arlovskaya, don't be ridiculous," the man said sternly, evidently no longer pretending to be her ally. "You should know that you can't just leave the mafia."

The doorknob jiggled, but it thankfully remained locked. Alfred risked a look back and saw Natalia on the window frame, balancing on the edge of the window, the thick soles of her shoes keeping the remaining edges of glass from cutting her feet. Before he could blink, she had slipped off of the ledge and out of sight.

Alfred pocketed his gun. Now that Natalia was safely in the other apartment, it was his turn to make an epic escape. In his imagination this had always been accompanied by a cool catchphrase of sorts, but he didn't know enough about his enemy to make a witty quip about them, and this was hardly the time. In his opinion, the best time to use killer one-liners was when fighting with someone face to face.

He had to hunch over to clamber through the windows (Alfred couldn't really contort himself like Natalia could), but he quickly landed in the other apartment. The floor in the old room was warped and covered in a thick layer of dust, but it was surprisingly stable.

The flat was eerily similar to the one that they had just escaped from, but abandoned and filthy. The bedroom door was completely gone. Mold crept on the walls and ancient furniture littered the room. Alfred wasn't entirely sure what their stalker was doing, but he doubted that they had given up on pursuing them.

They ran through the house, scrambling to get to the front door. Natalia lunged for the handle and pulled it open. It opened rather easily, the lock weakened after years of disuse; the pair did their best to walk down the stairs as quietly and rapidly as possible, while simultaneously trying to avoid slipping on the grime that covered each step

"This place is disgusting," she groused.

Alfred couldn't help but silently agree as he landed on the final step. They were now in the area of the apartment complex that faced the street, and he could see the narrow alleyway where he had entered. He moved forward and Natalia walked with him, her hands stuffed into the deep pockets of her jacket.

He gestured at the pathway in front of them. "I'm pretty sure it's the only entrance in this whole compound."  
Natalia nodded stiffly and pushed on forward. Alfred walked behind her, craning his neck to see if anyone was following them. He didn't _see_ anyone, but to his horror, he could hear the distant sound of someone descending the stairs. The man must have realized that they were no longer in the apartment. It wasn't like they had been very subtle.

A bright yellow light flooded Alfred's eyes when they stepped into the street. The neighborhood was busier and better lit than he had expected with people walking up and down the street; the block couldn't have looked more different than the empty road that Alfred had passed through earlier. Natalia looked just as surprised as Alfred did, and frankly, a little unnerved.

They couldn't just stand here and play live bait to whoever was following them. Alfred nudged Natalia and they started walking, blending in with the pedestrians.

"Why are there so many people?" Natalia grumbled, casting a dirty look at anyone who passed her. She must have stayed indoors for the duration of her entire stay in Germany, and Alfred couldn't imagine her contacting anyone besides Kirkland. If Alfred's grumpy director was all she had to talk to for months, he understood why she was so uncomfortable in a crowd.

The adrenaline had worn off, and the stinging on his cheek was unignorable now. Blood dripped slowly onto his white shirt.

"Damn," Alfred said, rubbing the mark on his collar. "Is it bad?"

"It's not that wide. It goes from below your eye to your jaw," Natalia said cooly. "There doesn't seem to be any glass there, but the bleeding is bad."

"You figure?" Alfred asked sarcastically as another drop stained his collar. "Do you have a napkin or something?"

Natalia reached into the deep pockets of her coat and pulled out a weathered scrap of parchment paper. It wasn't soft or very absorbent, but it was better than nothing. Alfred dabbed at the cut as he spoke.

"Matthew's waiting for us near that library—er, Matthew's my brother by the way. And our driver for the night."

Natalia folded her arms and continued walking. "Your agency lets siblings work together?"

"Dude, Matthew and I work super well together. You'll see," Alfred said confidently. "He's an amazing driver, and I'm an amazing action hero, so we'll save you and you'll be out of the continent in—"

Very suddenly, Alfred stopped talking. Even in the brief amount of time that she had known him, Natalia could tell something was wrong by how suddenly he had become silent. She peered up at him.

"What—"

Alfred shushed her; the grin that had been on his face earlier was gone. He looked around furtively before speaking.

"That man is still following us," Alfred said, his voice hushed and panicky. "We gotta shake him off."

He pulled on her arm, and she, surprisingly, didn't pull away. Natalia, as stoic as she usually was, looked too nervous to snipe at him. She balled the fabric of her coat into her fists and looked at the ground.

There was another pull on her arm and Alfred spoke. "Don't look up, but follow me. We're gonna go into the library and wait there until whoever's following us walks past."

Alfred and Natalia continued walking, their strides fast and frantic. They quickly reached the library, located in the far corner of a worn down street. It was a small, cluttered looking building with dusty windows and ancient looking books. Alfred pulled the heavy wooden door open for Natalia and followed after her.

The inside of the library was even more worn-out than the exterior, but it was warm and brightly lit; from behind a check-out booth, a middle-aged man looked up for a brief second and then turned his attention back to his desk. Alfred turned to Natalia.

"Do you speak any German?" he asked, keeping his voice as hushed as possible as he pretended to peruse a box of textbooks. Natalia frowned and shook her head.

"Alright, then just follow me. I'm going to go have a conversation with the man working at the counter so he doesn't wonder what you're up to. While I'm talking to him, stand by that cart of books and watch the windows. If you, I dunno, see someone you know or something that looks mafia-y, then tell me."

Natalia frowned. "How will I tell you without being suspicious?"

"Just cough or hum or something. I dunno."

With that rather nonreassuring comment Alfred crossed the room and walked up to the man at the counter and grinned. "Hello," he said in German, his accent virtually nonexistent. "I was wondering if you had any...books about...math?"

Internally, Alfred swore. Out of everything he could have asked for, that's what he chose? This was really turning out to be lamer than he had hoped for. Alfred had to get back to the top of his game.

The man looked up to Alfred and did a double take.

"Sir, your cheek's bleeding—are you alright?"

Alfred's smile faltered for a second, but he leached forward onto the counter and shrugged casually. "Paper cut. Sometimes, reading gets more intense than any of us are used too. Anyways, the textbooks?"

The librarian pulled his eyes away from the gash and cleared his throat. "Yes, there are some comprehensive textbooks in the corner, in the bin near the girl." He pointed to the window where Natalia was standing, her nose buried in a thick novel that she was clearly only pretending to read.

Alfred nodded. He hadn't expected the conversation to be so brief; he needed to ascertain that the man kept talking. "Thank you, sir, but I have another question. Could you give me a list of every math book you have? I need it because...I love lists."

The librarian gave Alfred a confused look, but he nodded. "Of course, young man. Give me a few minutes. I have to look through the file room for a full catalogue."

Alfred turned to Natalia the moment the man stepped away and spoke in a stage whisper.

"Have you seen anyone? Or anything?"

The woman rolled her eyes, closing the book she had been pretending to read with a huff. "Obviously not. Wouldn't I have alerted you if I had?"

"Well, don't get distracted. I don't know how many times I can ask that librarian for lists before he gets suspicious."

But Natalia, unnervingly, had gone completely silent. She was no longer focused on Alfred, but rather on someone standing on the other side of the window.

There was a man outside, his dark hair and his darker coat making him nearly invisible in the blackness of the night. He was standing curiously still, but there was an tenseness his shoulders that made him look ready to lash out at any given time—like he was waiting for something that he knew was nearby. The man seemed to be observing something in the far distance, and he turned his back to the library.

It was the sight of this man that made Natalia grow pale.

"That's the man."

Her voice shook slightly, but more from anger than from terror. The young woman turned to Alfred, her dark eyes flashing with something wildly unsettling as she spoke.

"I know him, I'm certain of it. He's an assassin for hire from the mafia—they really _did_ send someone to kill me."

She spoke with something like awe in her voice. It unnerved Alfred.

"If you're that you know him, then we have to get to Matthew now. Your safety's blown the moment he turns around," Alfred said, starting towards Natalia. She took a step back from him, hesitating and turning to look at the man outside with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Natalia? Natalia, we seriously have to go," Alfred said. He could hear the librarian shuffling in the backroom, still assembling the list of books for Alfred. They had to leave before the older man came back.

The woman eyes met with Alfred's, and she seemed to snap out of a stupor, blinking slowly as she set her book down.

"Yes. You're right," Natalia agreed firmly, taking her revolver out of her pocket and cocking it. "Let's go, then."

For all intents and purposes, Natalia was once again acting entirely normal (that is, she was poker-faced and silent), but Alfred couldn't shake the odd shift in her demeanor that had taken over her when she had caught sight of the man in the coat. He kept a cautious eye on her as they quietly walked out of the door and back onto the street. Alfred didn't trust the way she had hesitated. It planted the idea that something serious about the man had been bothering Natalia, and the notion of it kept him pondering as he closed the library door behind him.

The man was still at the window, but his face was still turned away from the pair. He hadn't moved at all; instead he stayed where he was, tilting his head slightly every few seconds like he was trying to listen for something. The few pedestrians that passed him paid him no attention.

Uncharacteristically, Natalia spoke up first.

"Well, now we're out," she mumbled, glancing over to Alfred. "Now where do we go?"

Alfred looked down the narrow street to a row of parked cars, all grey and slightly worn-down looking. He found the one he wanted parked near the far right corner and knocked on the driver seat window.

Matthew looked up from where he sat, halfway-folded in the front seat in an attempt to make the car look passenger-less. A clear expression of relief appeared on his face when he saw Alfred.

"Thank god," Matthew breathed, rolling down the window. "I've been sitting here in complete silence for hours. I'm glad that you made it, but what took you so long? You said you were fine over the radio, and then you disappear for an entire hour. While you were gone, Kirkland sent me a message. I told him you found the informant, and he gave me some further instructions. Apparently, he wants us to go to Monaco after this. We can't leave the continent until Kirkland gets the paperwork done, but apparently there's a safe area there we can go to—"

Alfred, who had nodded impatiently as Matthew spoke, finally interrupted him once it became clear that Matthew wouldn't stop talking for a while.

"That's great and all, but we have to get to the point. Matthew, this is Natalia. Natalia, Matt. We have to go _now_. There's a mafia assassin following us—"

" _Freelancing_ assassin _hired_ by the mafia," Natalia corrected. He waved this aside.

"Yeah, that. Point is, we can't stay here and jabber on about Kirkland. You have our exit papers, right?"

Matthew hesitated, looking from Natalia to Alfred. "Actually, I have some bad news about that. Apparently, only two of the fake passports we have will work, because there was a mix up in one of the passport's serial codes—"

Alfred groaned. "Ugh, seriously? We cross an ocean, jack a car, jump out of windows, and we get stopped by inept bureaucracy?"

"First of all, we didn't jack the car. Secondly, I'm sure there's a way we could get out of East Berlin without three passports. Do you have any of the ones that we used to get in?"

"No, I burnt them all in her apartment," Alfred said, gesturing towards Natalia. "That's what you told me to do."

Matthew removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, trying to brainstorm an alternate plan. "Well, maybe if we had a few more hours they could get the paperwork cleared up, but I'm not sure that would work without—"

There was the not-so-distant sound of footsteps, slow but clearly approaching them. Matthew, sensing something was wrong, put his glasses back on and turned to Alfred.

"Is that your assassin?"

"I don't want to turn around, but I'm going to guess it is?"

"It's him," Natalia confirmed from behind Alfred.

"Fuck."

"Miss, please get in the car,"

Matthew said this to Natalia, kindly but somewhat urgently, and then with much less patience:

"Alfred, get in the trunk."

Alfred gave Matthew an incredulous look, confusion flashing in his blue eyes. "Matthew, what—"

"I have a plan, so please trust me and stop wasting time, Alfred! Do your patriotic duty and _get in the trunk_."

The man from the window appeared from around the corner, the tails of his dark coat flapping behind him. The details of his face were still lost in shadows.

Natalia walked to the other side of the car and opened the passenger side door, quickly sliding into the seat next to Matthew. After a reluctant groan, Alfred stomped towards the trunk and opened it.

Matthew turned back around to front of the car and tightened his hands on steering wheel. The second he heard the slam of the trunk again, he turned the key and ignited the car. The man in the coat remained on the corner of the street, and as Matthew slowly backed the car, he saw the man raise something that gleamed sinisterly in the yellow light of the streetlamps.

There was a crack, and something small and hard hit the driver side window, fracturing the glass but not breaking it.

Any other driver might have not known what to do under the extremely dangerous circumstance of an assassin shooting at them while parked between two other cars, but Matthew did

He pressed his foot on the pedal and drove forward, crashing into the car in front of him. There was the sound of crumpling metal, and something heavy from the dashboard thudded onto the floor of the car. Natalia sputtered and turned to Matthew.

"Alfred said you were a good driver!" she yelled, her limp white hair falling over her eyes. Matthew sighed.

"I'm a good _getaway_ driver. My goal is to get away," Matthew explained patiently. "God, I hope we can get the Agency to buy these people a new car or something. This thing is like a tank."

The man in the coat had recoiled when the two cars had collided, but he quickly regained his composure and aimed his pistol again. Matthew turned the wheel, veered a sharp right, and sped down the road.

"Natalia, there's a bag on the floor next to you. Inside are a some papers. Can you take them out for me?"

The woman set down the gun that he hadn't noticed she had been holding and did as he asked. The ride to the border was tense, and it was by sheer luck that Matthew didn't encounter many other cars. He couldn't tell from where he was sitting, but Matthew was almost entirely sure that the hood of the car hadn't been badly dented from the collision.

They rode in silence; Matthew focused on driving, and Natalia had taken up her revolver again, gripping it tightly like it was a lifeline. The man in the coat hadn't pursued them on foot (not that he would be able to keep up with a dangerously fast car anyways). The road was relatively smooth. Matthew hoped Alfred didn't hate him too much for making him ride in the trunk, but it was essential to his plan.

When the checkpoint was finally in sight, Matthew slowed the car down and removed his glasses, blinking in the slight sudden fogginess.

"I think you're going to want to put the gun away," he said as he pulled up to the small building. He rolled down the window so that the officer wouldn't see the bullet fracture.

The officer standing at the checkpoint was a different man from the morning; he was older and fatter, and had a slightly more friendly look about him. He smiled at Matthew from underneath his tremendous moustache.

" _Guten abend_ ," the officer said, his gaze wandering from Matthew to Natalia. Matthew smiled back.

"Good evening, officer," Matthew said politely, leaning out of the window to talk to the man. "Do we need to get out of the car?"

The man waved him off and spoke in heavily accented English. "No, no, you're alright there. Nothing much ever happens during my shifts, so I suspect this won't take long. Passports and papers, if you don't mind."

Matthew took the passports from Natalia and handed them to the officer.

"Nicholas and Benjamin Aberforth?" the man read, sounding perplexed. "Those are both men's names, and your wife next to you is much too much of a pretty little thing to be a man!"

Natalia looked furious, and Matthew genuinely worried for a second that she would shoot the guard. He quickly spoke again, desperate to settle the situation.

"Well, officer, this is my—my sister, not my wife. And her name is Nicholas, named after our great-grandfather...Our family has this tradition, you see...about names. That is, she goes by—"

But the man lost interest in any explanations that Matthew gave, having already rifled through both of the passports. "It's fine, Mr. Aberforth," he said, stamping the passports. "Now that I look again, you two do look like siblings."

"Haha," Matthew laughed awkwardly, his hands clammy against the steering wheel. "Yup, we're super related."

It felt like every single part of his papers were being picked out and analyzed by the guard. Natalia sat in sullen silence, the ribbon in her hair wilting in her white-blonde hair. Matthew still didn't know anything about their informant beyond the fact that she was from the Soviet Union and that her name was Natalia. Her dark eyes remained on the ground, and a dark streak of what looked like dirt smudged her pale cheek. He wondered if she would have been more comfortable with Alfred in the car rather than himself.

As they waited, Matthew's body went cold, and then feverishly hot, and then cold again out of anxiety. He really wished that Alfred was here. The older Jones-Williams was a better liar, spoke German, and was rarely nervous.

Also, Matthew wasn't entirely sure if Alfred would ever forgive him for stuffing him in the trunk.

After what felt like an eternity and then some, the East German officer finally handed Matthew the forms.

"You're all set, Mr. Aberforth," the guard said cheerfully. " _Viel glück_! That means good luck."

Natalia snorted, and Matthew coughed loudly to hide the sound. "Ahem, thank you sir. Have a good evening."

Matthew took the papers back from the officer and drove forward with one hand on the wheel. He threw the papers into the back seat as soon as they were a good distance away from the checkpoint and put his glasses back on.

"Well, we did it. The guard was a very friendly man, and I feel a bit guilty for taking advantage of him like that, but I suppose it was for the greater good."

"We crossed the border," Natalia said.

Matthew nodded, his attention on the road in front of him. They had been given tickets and instructions for a flight at the Berlin Tegel Airport early in the morning, and Matthew focused his attention to finding the airport's location.

Natalia spoke again.

"We crossed the border," she repeated. "That means I am—we are in Western Europe."

The significance was starting to dawn on Matthew. "Oh, uh, yes. I suppose we are. I hope you'll like it. You might not get to see much of it here, since it's nighttime right now and there might not be much in the airport, but there'll be lots to see in Monaco."

Natalia said nothing, and instead leaned against the window. Matthew didn't know if she was sleeping or if she just didn't want to talk to him, but they were both silent for the rest of the drive.

Another half-hour had passed when Matthew finally pulled into a parking spot at the TXL. It was around ten at night now, but the clean white lights from the terminals gave Matthew a sense of security; he had finally returned to a safe haven.

He stepped out of the car, relieved that he could finally stretch his legs after hours of sitting. Matthew walked to the back of the car where Natalia soon joined him. Matthew opened the trunk of the car and nearly jumped back when the lid opened and Alfred sat up.

"Oh, hey Matt," Alfred said casually, swinging his legs over the edge of the trunk and standing up. He had stripped down to a black t-shirt; the jacket he had been wearing was lying in the far corner of the trunk, and his white button-up shirt was held up against his face, soaking up blood. "Have I ever told you how hard it is to take off clothing while you're stuck in the trunk? 'Cause it's a lot harder than you can imagine."

Matthew exhaled sharply. "What the—when did you cut your face?"

"When I broke the window in Natalia's apartment. It's actually been bleeding for a while, but it must have been too dark for you to see earlier. Damn, I hope I get a cool scar and not an infection," Alfred said, wincing slightly as he lifted the shirt off of his face. "But other than the endless bleeding, being locked in the trunk was _great_. I loved not knowing what was going on and claustrophobia. Where are we?"

Matthew gave the cut another furtive glance. "We're at the Berlin Tegel Airport, where we came in from yesterday. Kirkland's arranged a flight for us at four AM."

"Ugh, a red eye flight? I swear that man hates us."

Natalia spoke up.

"You said we were going to Monaco," she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "How can we be certain that the Braginsky Ring isn't going to follow us there?"

"Monaco's in Western Europe, like you said," Matthew said. "They won't be able to get past the checkpoint in Berlin."

Natalia raised an eyebrow and looked at Matthew disbelievingly, but she said nothing in return. The trio stood there in silence; Matthew, tired and struggling to stay awake, Natalia, small and thin in dirty clothing that was too big for her, and Alfred, who was still bleeding a frightening amount of blood.

Alfred looked from Matthew to Natalia. "We'll get through this," he said optimistically, smiling wide despite the cut.

"Now, c'mon. Let's go into the airport."

* * *

 **Hey, Bubble here! This chapter ended up way longer than I planned. Now that the trio has left Berlin, they're going to the most 1960s-spy place ever: Monte Carlo! Will the mafia catch up to them? Will there be a makeover scene? Will Alfred ever stop bleeding? Find out in the next chapter!**

 **This is once again dedicated to the fantastic TitanTea, who had to wait too long for this chapter. Hope you enjoy it so far.**

 **I'd also like to thank the beautiful Mochi for beta-ing my writing for me.**

 **Lastly, I'd like to thank you, the reader. Thank you for your interest, and feel free to leave a review!**


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